Pam Poovey: Advertising Genius
by Red Witch
Summary: The Figgis Agency learns there is such a thing as bad publicity when Pam plasters the town with pink fliers.


**Pam did something to the disclaimer telling all of you that I don't own any Archer characters. I just had some mad thoughts from my tiny mind. Nonsense really. But I wondered what it would happen if…**

 **Pam Poovey: Advertising Genius **

"Well it's a typical day at the Figgis Agency," Mallory drawled as she walked into the bullpen one afternoon. She saw Cyril and Ray watching television. "Nothing going on with Sterling. Nothing going on **here**."

"Maybe there's a case on the news we can solve?" Cyril sighed.

"What?" Mallory asked. "The Case of the Missing Commercial?"

"Where's Pam?" Ray looked around. "I just realized I haven't seen her all day."

"You mean our new Manager of Public Relations?" Cyril sighed.

"You gave her a title?" Mallory asked.

"It was either that or a raise," Cyril snapped.

"Smart choice," Mallory groaned.

"Was that so hard to admit?" Cyril snapped.

"I want a title," Ray said.

"You mean you're not satisfied being Queen of the Mayfair?" Mallory sneered.

"I was only **runner up**!" Ray snapped. "I was robbed!"

"There was someone gayer than **you?** " Mallory asked.

"Think a thin brunette male version of Trudy Beekman," Ray said.

"Oh dear God," Mallory blanched. "You **were** robbed! It was all politics am I right?"

"Just like those Woman of the Year awards," Ray shrugged.

"Then I apologize Ray," Mallory said. "Clearly you had no chance against a rigged system. Then again that is pretty much your life…"

"Do I want to know…?" Cyril sighed.

"Not particularly," Ray told him. "So what's this about making Pam Manager of Public Relations? What is she…? Oh god she's **not!** "

"She is," Cyril sighed. "At this very moment."

"What is she doing?" Mallory snapped.

"Her job," Cyril sighed. "Getting the word out about the Figgis Agency."

"She's out putting up more of those stupid pink fliers, isn't she?" Mallory groaned.

"I don't see **you** getting us any clients!" Cyril snapped.

"Well that explains why every telephone pole and tree on this street has a pink flyer on it," Lana sighed as she walked over to them.

"The Pink Pamela strikes again," Ray quipped.

"I can only **imagine** where else she's put these flyers," Cyril groaned.

Let's check out where the fliers are shall we?

Of course, there were flyers all over trees and telephone poles all over town. And in bus stations. Grocery stores. On the windshields of cars at both bus stations and the grocery stores. All over town.

There was also some very creative spray paint art of Furlock Bones and the words Figgis Agency on several walls all over town.

Two young African American men looked at one of them. "A pink hound in a hat," One said. "Well that's something you don't see in the hood every day."

"But is it art?" The other asked.

"It will be if I draw a dick on it," The first one said.

"Someone already did," The second one said.

"Oh well then it's definitely art," The first one nodded.

Meanwhile at the home of famed movie studio producer Morris Pickle (Who looked a lot like Stanley Tucchi).

"Gentlemen," He addressed the beefy security men in his office. "I am Morris Pickle. I run one of Hollywood's biggest studios. Therefore, I have many enemies. And I need protection from those enemies. Protection you gentlemen have **promised** to provide. Am I right?"

"Uh…" The hired muscle looked nervous.

"I have a state of the art security system," Pickle went on. "Which forces me to put in a complicated security code every time I just want to go outside and pick up my freaking mail. I can't even go down my own driveway without putting in some kind of freaking alarm but for some reason…"

He held up a familiar pink flier. "ALL OF THAT **FAILED** WHEN I FOUND THIS ON MY FRONT DOOR! AND THE WINDSHIELDS OF ALL SIX OF MY CARS! AND THEY'RE IN THE FREAKING GARAGE! A GARAGE THAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE LOCKED TIGHTER THAN FORT FREAKING KNOX!"

"Uh clearly there are some bugs in the system…" One hired muscle gulped.

"YOU THINK?" Pickle shouted. "GO FIX THEM OR ELSE YOU'RE ALL FIRED! AND BY FIRED, I MEAN LITTERALLY FIRED OUT OF A FREAKING CANNON!"

The muscle ran for their lives. "I tell ya this town is gone to hell," Pickle grumbled. "What is this anyway? Figgis Agency? Never heard of it."

"Hang on," Pickle thought as he took out a recording device. "Idea for a new movie or show. A pink gay bloodhound that's a detective. Like Scooby Doo only with a sense of fashion. Market. Probably teens or adults depending on who we get to write it."

Somewhere in Beverly Hills at the home of famed producer Maximillian Maxim.

"What the hell is this?" A man who looked like Nathan Lane looked at Pam's flyer.

His blond male secretary told him. "It was in your mail. And your chauffer found one on the windshield of your car."

"The Figgis Agency," Maxim looked at the flyer. "Looks like a promo for a TV show about a gay dog detective."

He paused. "That just might work. I mean gay is very in right now."

"About damn time," His secretary said.

"Oh hush," Maxim took out his phone. "Pickle? Max. Listen I just got an idea for a new show I wanna throw at you. Really? No kidding? That's the same idea I have! Great minds do think alike. Oh. You got the same flier too. Who produced it?"

"No, I never heard of it. Anyway, what are you thinking? Animation obviously. That's back in again, right? Or live action with that CGI stuff. Uh huh. Well it depends on what audience we're shooting for. Right. We can figure that out later."

"So what are we talking about profits wise? Oh come on Pickle! I can make that amount in my sleep. My secretary makes more than that in a month!"

"Obviously a lot does depend on distribution. Are we talking cable or network? What about streaming? I hear that's very profitable these days."

"I think we might want to go the cable slash streaming option. Yeah give us more options when it comes to writing episodes. I think the more swears we get in the better."

"Okay that's a better deal. Okay fine, Boobala. Have your lawyer call my lawyer. Now who are we going to get to write this thing?"

"Morris! Morris! Have you not been reading the trades these days? Apparently when it comes to animation these days writing **does** matter. Moonlight City doesn't count. That was more of a rip off anyway."

"You're thinking of reality shows Morris. That's right. Hey! Idea for a reality show. The Next Great Cartoon! Get a bunch of artists together and have 'em compete on making a new show! And then we produce the winning show! So that's like **two shows** for the price of one! It can't miss!"

"Morris, they already have reality shows based on cooking, making dresses and creating monster costumes. An animated reality show isn't that far-fetched. Hell, they even have fishing reality shows! Exactly!"

"How about this? We do a separate meeting on the reality show. I got lunch today with…Darren who do I have lunch with today?" Maxim looked at the blonde man.

Darren looked at the schedule book. "You were supposed to have lunch with Ellis Crane. Booked it months ago."

"Oh right. He's dead," Maxim realized. "Morris. I just got an opening for lunch today. You in? Yes, I'm buying. You bought last time! I was thinking Spago. What do you mean? Morris, I'm paying the bill. I get to choose the restaurant."

"Fine. See you at one. We'll hammer out the details," Maxim said. "Have your people throw something together about the dog. My people will throw something together about the reality show."

"Fine you bring your lawyers and writers and I'll bring mine. You know the rules. Only two lawyers maximum and one writer. Because writers eat more than lawyers, Morris! Everybody knows that. They're like locusts!"

"Oh! One of the bad guys in the dog cartoon is a locust. I know man it's like magic. See you. Ciao."

Back at Pickle's office…

"So do you think either of these new shows will get off the ground?" Pickle's female secretary asked.

"Probably not," Pickle shrugged. "Or it might. Either way I get a free lunch."

Meanwhile at a casting call office…

"Oh great!" A female talent scout groaned as she opened an envelope with the flyer of the Figgis Agency inside. "The Pink Dog people strike again! They're almost as bad as the Glitter Queen!"

The talent scout's phone rang. "Talk to me," The female talent scout answered. "Yeah. I could probably find someone like that. Voice a pink gay bloodhound. Like Huckleberry Hound only more obvious. I got a few guys like that."

And so it went all over town.

The point is, no one was spared the wrath of Hurricane Pam.

Pink's Hot Dog Stand. Venice Beach Boardwalk. City Hall. The Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Practically every bar in town had a flyer for the Figgis Agency in it. And all the universities.

Even in the La Brea tar pits there were pink flyers scattered among the tar. And sticking to a few mastodon statues.

Meanwhile back at the Figgis Agency…

"Yes I understand but…" Cyril winced as he heard shouting on the phone. "FINE!"

He hung up. "That was the bank across the street. Well it's official, Pam hit every store and building on this block. And several others."

"And I'm guessing some of the people who run those buildings want to hit us," Ray winced. "Am I right?"

"That was the gist of their conversation yes," Cyril sighed.

"What is she?" Ray asked. "Some kind of God damned flyer ninja?"

"As if the other businesses on this street didn't hate us enough," Cyril groaned.

"This is another thing I miss about New York," Mallory admitted. "Back there no one gave a damn what their neighbor was doing."

"It did make committing crimes a lot easier," Ray shrugged.

"Like running an illegal spy agency," Lana glared at Mallory.

"Still mad about that huh?" Mallory rolled her eyes.

Ray noticed something on screen. "Looks like a lot of people are going to be mad with us. Look!" He turned up the volume.

Reporter Darlene Love stood there in front of the Hollywood Sign. Which was covered in pink fliers. "The Hollywood Sign seems to have been vandalized by a bizarre publicity stunt. Word on the street is that it is promoting a television show about a gay private eye bloodhound."

"I'd watch that program," Ray said.

"You'd watch anything!" Mallory fumed as she turned off the TV. "Like the majority of America."

"I don't freaking believe this," Lana groaned. "That's the second time she's vandalized the Hollywood Sign!"

"Somewhere there's some reality star that's mad because she didn't think of it first," Ray remarked.

"PAM!" Cyril shouted. "When I catch her…"

"Good luck with that," Mallory groaned. "Unless she decides to take a donut break."

"Well this explains why our office supply bill is always so high," Cyril groaned. "And our copy machine always needs to be fixed."

"I thought that was because Cheryl has a habit of passing out on top of it?" Ray asked. "After sniffing glue and photocopying her breasts?"

"That too," Cyril sighed.

"Hello again, assholes," Detective Harris snapped as he entered the agency with his partner and Pam in handcuffs. "I take it **this** is yours!"

"If we say no, will you take her away?" Mallory asked hopefully.

"HEY!" Pam snapped. "Hurtful."

"Not hurtful enough," Cyril glared at her.

"Why is it we always have to end up dealing with **you lunatics**?" Detective Dietrich snapped as he released Pam from her handcuffs. "It took us forever to track her down!"

"We caught her eating a whole bunch of churros at a stand downtown," Detective Harris explained.

"You called it," Ray said to Mallory.

"Technically I said donuts," Mallory shrugged.

"Still pastry," Ray told her. "It counts."

" **This one** was almost counted with about a million charges of trespassing and vandalism!" Detective Harris pointed to Pam. "And littering!"

"How the hell did you get those flyers above the urinals in the men's room of the police station without anyone noticing?" Detective Dietrich shouted. "What are you? Some kind of flyer ninja?"

"Pretty much yeah," Pam nodded.

"Pam…" Cyril growled a warning.

"What?" Pam asked. "You wanted me to put up fliers!"

"I said a **few fliers**!" Cyril snapped. "Not litter the damn Hollywood sign and the whole town with them!"

"Hey you put me in charge of Marketing," Pam snapped. "I marketed!"

"Market **this!** " Detective Dietrich handed Cyril a piece of paper.

"Fortunately for you idiots this is Hollywood," Detective Harris told them. "And non-violent publicity stunts are protected by law. Actually, technically semi-violent publicity stunts are also protected by law. Pretty much any stunt is given a pass as long as no one dies and or no one important is maimed. You morons are getting off easy!"

"A **ten thousand dollar fine**?" Cyril shouted.

"I said easy," Detective Harris shrugged. "Not cheap."

"We're just going to leave now," Detective Dietrich snapped. "Because honestly we don't want to be around you maniacs any longer than we have to! You people are **crazy!** "

"We are not!" Lana protested.

That was when Schnuckiputzi strolled by and sat in front of them. She meowed and started licking herself.

"Well most of us aren't," Lana sighed.

Then Krieger walked up wearing a gas mask, his lab coat and a pair of underpants. "Excuse me," He spoke up. "Anyone seen any strange kind of mold walking around? Never mind. I'll find it." He walked away.

"Some of us aren't," Lana groaned.

"I stand by my statement," Detective Dietrich groaned. "Come on partner. Let's get out of here before we catch their crazy!"

"And stop sending us e-mails!" Detective Harris snapped as they left.

"E-mails?" Lana asked.

"I also did a digital campaign," Pam explained. "I sent out e-mails advertising the Figgis Agency to everyone on my address list, the Figgis Agency's address list, Archer's address list, Ms. Archer's address list…"

"YOU DID WHAT?" Mallory shouted.

"Hey you know a lot of rich bitch clients," Pam told her. "And you're always saying they need work done."

"ON THEIR **FACES**!" Mallory shouted. "Not…Oh Dear God Pam! Tell me you didn't…. You didn't send e-mails to the people back in New York did you?"

"Damn right I did," Pam said.

"Not to Gloria Vanderhoffen or Peggy Bosworth or…?" Mallory's face went ashen. "Not Trudy Beekman! Tell me you didn't send one of these to Trudy Big Mouth Beekman!"

"I could but that would be a lie," Pam said. "But don't worry. I pretended I was you. I just wrote a note saying that you needed work for the agency and threw in a few insults so…"

"AAAAAAHHH!" Mallory lunged at Pam.

"NO! MALLORY!" Lana and Cyril pulled her off Pam.

"What did I do?" Pam snapped as they pulled Mallory off her.

"Basically exist!" Mallory seethed as she backed off.

"Mallory, you can't strangle Pam!" Lana snapped.

"You're right," Mallory said calmly. "What was I thinking?"

She then went to her purse and pulled out her gun. "This is much more **effective!** "

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" Pam screamed as she ran away.

"COME BACK AND DIE LIKE A MAN YOU HEIFER!" Mallory screamed as she chased after Pam.

"I take it the position of Manager of Public Relations is now vacant?" Lana groaned.

"Or it soon will be," Cyril groaned. "If we don't stop her! MALLORY NO!"

"DON'T SHOOT PAM!" Lana shouted as she and Cyril ran after Mallory.

"KRIEGER!" Cyril shouted. "GET THE TRANQUILZER GUN! MS. ARCHER'S GONE ROGUE!"

BANG! BANG!

"MISSED ME! YIKES!" Pam shouted.

BANG! BANG!

"Whoever said there was no such thing as bad publicity never worked in this office," Ray groaned.


End file.
